


Mirror, Mirror (Daddy Issues: Part II)

by Sundiver



Series: Daddy Issues [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Light BDSM, M/M, Soulmates, in some form or another - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 13:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundiver/pseuds/Sundiver
Summary: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the trickster of them all?





	Mirror, Mirror (Daddy Issues: Part II)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys. I wasn’t even supposed to write this, but Stiles and Peter took over and I had no say in the matter. This is the second installment in the series, and cannot be read as a stand-alone – you’d have to read “Daddy Issues” before reading this.  
> Also, you’ll probably notice that this part of the story is quite different from DI. That’s because I’m showing Stiles life and prospective. Hopefully I manage to keep Peter consistent in this.  
> The installment will be three-four chapters – tops - but the story arc will be by no means finished.  
> Hope you like it! Let me know what you think! I live for comments and kudos (despite I’m kind terrible at answering).  
> Also, English is not my first language and this story is not yet beta read. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. As soon as my wonderful beta Blinc43 does her magic I’ll fix the stories.  
> Oh, I have tumblr now!  
> http://sundiver4steter.tumblr.com/

 

 

Stiles Stilinski closed the door of his apartment and leaned against it, leaving the real world behind.

He had half an hour to take a shower, change and go meet the two of the World’s Biggest Douchebags to discuss his latest case. And a flower arrangement. There would be that too – the discussion about the flower arrangement.

He hadn’t slept for seventy two hours straight, had lived on a couple of energy bars for at least twenty, was cranky, dead-tired and jittery beyond belief, but no one gives two shits about that, do they?

Never mind he was probably resembling an extra from the Walking Dead right about now – both mentally and physically.

No, he had to go talk with the FBI right this second! No matter the killer-turned-up-serial-killer was in custody and could wait eight more hours for Stiles to get a breather. No matter the other serial killer was in a maximum security prison, and wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. No, Stiles was needed right _now_!

Angry tears were stinging his eyes, threatening to spill, but Stiles pushed them away, dropped his keys in the key-bowl next to the door, toed his shoes off and started removing his jacket. He had lost three precious minutes already. It was then his cell decided to start blaring the Imperial March Theme from Star Wars.

Of course! Of course Lydia would pick exactly this moment to call, probably to try and drag him on a night into town. Jesus, when it rained it poured!

“Agent Clarisse Sterling, how may I help you?” he answered the call with.

What? If shoe fits, wear it!

Silence on the other end. He should have known the “Silence of the Lambs” reference would be lost on her. He started counting the seconds.

“Stiles?”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Yes, Goddess of my Heart, what can I do for you?” he asked, and continued conversationally, “Granted, I can’t do all that much in this particular moment in time because I’m dead on my feet, but can’t go to bed because Agent Douchebag One and Agent Douchebag Two want to see me in half an hour thanks to my case turning into a Federal one. So if you intend to drag me out on a night in town because it’s Friday, sorry, Lydia it’s not happening. I need to go meet the FBI, and probably spend the next forty-eight hours in jail for assault and battery of a federal agent…”

“Stiles!” Lydia snapped on the other end of the line. “Stop and listen!”

Stiles close his mouth shut, and tried to do the same with his wayward thoughts - with not much of a success.

“Listening” at least he was capable of that.

“Stiles, this is very, _very_ important!” Lydia was stern, demanding all his attention. He valiantly tried to deliver. “You’re about to have a visitor. Don’t…”

That’s how far she got, before Styles blow up on her.

“Lydia, what the Hell! It’s four in the morning! What visitor?! If you have hired me an escort I swear to God, Lydia, I will…”

And there was a knock at the door.

Stiles brain short-circuited at that. Time for compartmentalizing. He blocked whatever Lydia was trying to yell at him over the phone and forced his brain on-line again. She sounded sort of frantic. So may be this visitor was someone Stiles should stay away from, and don’t open the door? Well, too bad. He was a homicide detective, and despite the firm belief of everyone around him, he actually _could_ take care of himself.

He cut the call, pulled out his service gun - and his badge, in case some innocent bystander was about to get the scare of their life, although Styles wasn’t entirely sure if innocent bystanders would knock at his door at four a.m., may be his insomniatic neighbor from eleven-B wanted to borrow a cup of sugar again? -  and swung the door open.

The gun pointed between two very, very pretty blue eyes. On a very handsome, masculine face. A chiseled jaw clenched in determination and hidden under an unfairly sexy goatee. Jet-black hair, Roman nose, sculpted cheek-bones, menacing aura… The man was mouth-watering! That wasn’t fair! The Universe was fucking with Stiles by sending him his wet dream in the flesh and he could do nothing about it!

The Imperial March chose this moment to blare on again. Stiles let the call go to voicemail, his full attention focused on his visitor. He didn’t look him up and down like he wanted to, in case the man was up to something. Instead he bore his stare in the Handsome Demi-god’s eyes, in case they telegraphed his movements. Jesus, the eyes were pretty! And they had crincles!

The eyes were the most important thing in Stiles book. Then came the face. After the face were the hands. Then came the body, which at this point was not all that important. Men had managed to win Stiles over with their eyes alone. And then, at last, contrary to popular belief came the equipment. Stiles might be gay, but he was the opposite of a size queen, actually big dicks tend to scare him. Jesus, his mind was complete mess, he needed sleep!

The eyes shifted into electric blue for a second and then back to normal, letting Stiles know of his visitor’s supernatural status. Ah, a were-something, then.

“What can I do for you?” he asked somewhat politely, but not inviting more than just ‘state your business and bugger off’.

The man looked at the gun and raised an eyebrow at him. Jesus, he had expressive eyebrows. Stiles wanted to look up to them – and those magnificent eyes too - from downbelow, during some hard and heavy action. Oh, God, he groaned internally, he needed to get laid! It had been too long. Wait, can an eyebrow mock? Well, if the handsome bastard was mocking him just because he was a were-something and thought a mere gun won’t help Stiles any, he was in for a surprise, wasn’t he? A shot in the head will do him just fine, like everybody else, even a vampire.

Hm.

The stranger spoke then.

“My name is Peter Hale. I would like to come in, because there is a pressing matter we need to discuss, and I would prefer not to address it in the foyer. Would you mind lowering your gun and letting me in?”

The voice was cool, controlled, almost soothing and gave Stiles all kinds of butterflies in his stomach. He wanted to listen to this voice for hours. May be he could persuade the handsome stranger to read to him?

Jesus, Stiles brain was short-circuiting again due to lack of decent sleep, and his body was reacting so viscerally to this stranger, it was entirely unprecedented. 

Wait, Peter Hale?

“Peter Hale? Lydia’s boss Peter Hale? The owner of ‘Pandemonium’ Peter Hale? The professional Dom Peter Hale?” Stiles voice was rising a bit with every question up to the point he was almost shouting at the end. He was going to _kill_ Lydia! She did hire him an escort!

His mind short-circuited for m-tied time at that thought, imagining what the man was here for and what he can… Stiles shook his head violently. The man was a professional Dom, nothing Stiles could imagine was viable option for a BDSM expert, it would be too vanilla for him. And he was a were-something which meant he could scent Stiles reaction to his presence!

The were flashed him a sinfully sexy grin and Stiles knees suddenly turned to Jell-O.

Dear Lord!

“The one and the same” was the smooth answer. “I’m delighted you know of me. You must also know…”

“Look” Stiles interrupted him sternly. “If this is one of Lydia’s interventions,…” the man’s eyes flared in irritation for the interruption, but Stiles bulldozed over him”… if she had hired you to, I don’t know, dominate me or something, let me assure you, I have no desire, subconscious or otherwise, to be spanked, whipped or whatever she hired you to do!” this time the were’s eyes widened with shock, indignation and anger. Stiles went on “I have nothing against the lifestyle, but let me assure you, I have no desire to experience any of it, no matter what Lydia says, and frankly, this is a really, really bad time to have this conversation, or any type of conversation” at the end of Stiles’ tirade the eyes of the man were glowing the electric blue Stiles found so enchanting. The man was obviously livid with him, however, so Stiles went on in some sort of half-assed attempt of damage control, in case he read the situation wrong. “If this is about me knowing about the supernatural, and you are paying me a visit in some official capacity, let me assure you, your secret is safe with me. Lydia must have told you that already. Listen to my heart, I’m not lying. I’m not part of any pack. I have no pack affiliation beyond my best friend being a werewolf and Lydia being a banshee. I’m not here to cause any trouble for your pack, or pride, or skulk, or whatever, nor am I here to spy on you. Yes, I know the secret, but I’m on your flocks, or pack’s, or whatever’s territory not in the capacity of someone in the know. I live here and work here, entirely in the human-world capacity. I don’t want any trouble with the supernatural in the city, and I don’t want to cause any trouble for the community, unless they do something that falls under my jurisdiction and I have to investigate, which, by my knowledge up to this point haven’t happened.” The were looked amused now, so Stiles considered himself somewhat in the clear. “If that changes, I will follow protocol and will contact your alpha or the supernatural authority of the sup under my investigation. So, I’m sorry you had to drop everything and come to pay me a visit, but I’m no threat to you or yours.”

Peter Hale’s lips quirked upward in a barely there smile at the end of Stiles winded tirade.

“Werewolf” he said.

Stiles blinked at him, uncomprehending. The man had a beautiful smile. Stiles had to suppress the sudden urge to grab him by the hair and kiss him stupid now and make him breakfast in the morning. Mind – gutter.

“Hm?” was the young man’s eloquent response.

“I’m a werewolf” the werewolf smile broadened, and then the second eyebrow joined the first in a… frankly, mocking and irritating expression, which was unfair, because Stiles found it incredibly sexy! That level of confidence when a gun is pointed at your head was… was… was…

“Mind putting the gun away? I assure you, it’s not needed in the slightest. I mean you no harm, but we do need to talk, and it is a rather pressing matter that has nothing to do with me – being a professional Dom or my pack affiliation.”

And the Real World came crushing down. Stiles blinked – yes, he was still keeping the werewolf at gunpoint, but he had kind of forgotten about that - sighed and lowered the weapon.

“Can it wait?” he almost pleaded. “I really need to be doing something work related in the moment.”

“I’m afraid not. I feel obligated to stress the upmost importance of the matter.” The wolf said coolly. “And I rather discuss the matter in private.”

Stiles sighed again.

“More important that a killer turned into a serial killer and an FBI meeting?” he tried, but the wolf huffed a chuckle. Stiles did not think it was sexy! Honest! What the Hell was wrong with his libido anyways?!

“I’m afraid so.”

Well, if the supernatural decided to fuck with him right this second, Stiles was in no position to do anything, was he?

He put the gun away and stepped away from the door.

“Please, come in” even in his mental state, the young man managed to scrape a few brain cells for being polite to a dangerous, and probably - high ranking in his pack – predator.

Peter Hale walked by him entering his apartment. Stiles closed the door and put the chain in place. He turned to see the wolf’s nostrils flaring, taking every scent of his small apartment in, and looking around with a laser focus, missing nothing. Stiles wasn’t missing anything either. Especially that thick neck, those broad shoulders and the toned skin peeking out from that deep, tight V-neck shirt. And the muscles. Dear Lord, that chest, and those abs! And when the wolf turned his back on him to take a better look around…

Stiles mood plummeted and he sighed tiredly. He knew what the wolf was seeing. The apartment was small: a shoe-box sized kitchen - in which Stiles somehow had managed to fit a stove, a fridge, a dish-washer, a coffee-maker, and a kitchen counter – opened to a living/dining room with a green sofa, cherry-wood coffee table with a lap-top perched on it, an old arm-chair, which actually belonged to his father he drove all the way from Beacon Hills, a small book case, and a TV. One door was leading to the bathroom, one door leading to the closet where the washing machine and the drier were situated, and the last door was leading to the small bedroom, which barely managed to contain Stile’s queen size bed, a wardrobe, a dresser and a single night stand, all made of dark wood, with barely enough space to turn around and move about. The apartment was small, almost claustrophobic, especially painted in the dark browns and greys, but it was _his_ and Stiles felt safe here, instead of stifled. He called it his burrow. Lydia called it his dungeon - just once. Stiles bit her head off for it.

Wait, why did Stiles had this irrational need to impress this admittedly twelve-on-the-tenth-scale-gorgeous man? That was weird!

The wolf took everything in and – nodding to himself, more than anything – turned to face Stiles.

***

“Lydia tells me you know about werewolves,” Peter Hale decided to open with both barrels and not let his boy any wiggle room, just steamrolled him over, “, so you are aware of the concept of mates and what that means for both the werewolf and their mate.” he stated matter-of-factly, face neutral.

Stiles blinked at him, baffled at the apparent nonsequetor and trying to figure out what that has to do with the wolf urgent business. Peter was happy to enlighten him.

“Uh, yes?” the boy started slowly. “I’m aware. I don’t see what…”

“You are my mate” Peter interrupted him, nonchalantly – like he wasn’t dropping a bomb in Stiles lap - with a tone that allowed no argument, at the precise moment the statement would do maximum ‘damage’.

Stiles just stared at the wolf stupefied. The boy’s eyes were growing larger and larger, bugging out as Peters words sank in deeper and deeper in the boy’s exhausted mind.

Peter was pretty please with himself and his delivery of the good news. Storming out and just barging in with the intent to claim what was his, probably was not Peter’s smartest move, but he had waited for this moment for so long, he couldn’t possibly be expected to wait a second longer. He was a dominant male with an alpha personality. He had neither time nor patients now, when he had his target was almost in his grasp.

Probably following his own advice and letting Lydia paved his way to Stiles would had been the smarter choice, and may be it would save him getting through some hard obstacles on the road, but Peter was firm believer in the adage “The wolf has a thick neck because he does his job himself”. When it came to matters of the heart that is. His own heart at least.

So he banked on the shock factor for maximum result to obliterate any resistance. According to what Lydia had said, he expected plenty. His little mate’s exhaustion was helping big time too, although Peter didn’t like the deep blue circles under his mate’s sunken eyes, and the too pale and clammy, almost sickly skin tone of his boy. Also, his mate looked too skinny. God only knows when his boy had had a decent meal! The wolf hated it, and vowed to do something about that – no way he would let his mate walk around hungry, exhausted and sleep-deprived… As soon as he managed to sneak under his boy’s defenses.

Despite the front he put on, Peter Hale was not a good or a nice man, and was not above exploiting every advantage to get what he wanted. He was self-aware enough to admit, to himself at least, that deep down, he was unrepentantly selfish. He had no problems playing the good guy when it cost him a minimal effort or sacrificing a smidgen of his time, but when the things came to his mate? Well. Peter was ready to go ‘evil incarnated’ to get him.

The wolf in him loved playing mind games, loved playing with his food, and had the urge to drag his little mate into the bedroom and feast on him ever since he saw his photo at the club an hour ago. And now, when he saw his boy’s den he wanted to do that more than ever. His wolf was practically purring in approval. Such a glorious den, deep and dark, perfect for safety, and protection, and care, and sin. And small – his wolf loved that too. His mate had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Such a perfect mate! Long-limbed, creamy-skinned and beautiful. Peter could envision all this pale skin splayed on black sheets. The boy had black sheets on his bed, he was ready to bet his share of the club on it. His wolf wanted to sink his teeth in their mate and never let go.

But not now. Now Peter needed to press, and bully, and box his mate into a corner, into accepting it, accepting _him_ , because, from what Lydia had said, if he had left his little mate even a smidgen of space, the boy would balk and fight him every step of the way just on principle and try to get free. And there was no getting free, not from Peter, not for Stiles. The sooner his boy accepted it, the sooner Peter would be able to start taking care of his mate and healing the sixteen years of emotional trauma.

The wolf smiled disarmingly at his boy, and spread his hands in what-can-you-do gesture.

***

Stiles jaw hit the floor.

“Mate?” he meeped.

“Mate” Peter reiterated with a firm nod.

Stiles was speechless, his mind was drawing blank, his heart – sky-rocketing, his breathing coming in shorter and shorter gulps. He was going straight into a panic attack.

Aaaaaaaand his phone choose that exact moment to ring, jostling Stiles’ emotions sideways, out of the path of the inevitable, but toward something destructive non-the-less. He knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. ‘Well’, some part of his brain thought, ‘if someone deserved to end up at the receiving end of a meltdown, it’s most certainly one of those two.’

“Hello?” he picked up the call with.

Then Stiles’ eyes narrowed, very well aware of the piercing look the werewolf in the apartment was giving him.

“Give the phone to Argent, McCall” he gritted out, and didn’t miss the widening of the Hale’s eyes and the clench of his jaw.

There was almost shouting on the other end of the line and demands and all sorts of things Stiles could not – _would_ not – let fly.

“Listen, you Son-of-a-bitch,” he hissed in the phone “If you don’t give the phone to Argent right this second, I’m going to come down there and scream in front of the entire FBI what a shitty father and husband you actually are. How do you think your colleagues will react, knowing everything you have done to Scott and Mellissa, you, Piece of shit? Want to go there? ‘Cos I’m more than ready to drag you there, kicking and screaming, in front of your entire department! Actually, I dream about it every night from the moment I laid my eyes on you again! Now, give the fucking phone to Argent!”

The werewolf’s eyes were glowing the electric werewolf blue, and Stiles absentmindedly remembered the history and the animosity between the Hales and the Argents. May be it would be better to put the phone on speaker? Wait, the werewolf could hear both sides of the conversation – no problem. But it would be a show of good fate, wouldn’t it? Stiles pressed the button, put the phone on the table and leaned on it, sighing tiredly.

“Stilinski, you were…” the masculine voice of Christopher Argent came out of the speaker, and Stiles cut him off bulldozing over him.

“Look, Christopher, I haven’t slept for the last seventy two hours, and haven’t had a decent meal for the last thirty two. I’m tired, I’m cranky, and frankly, I’m at the end of my rope here. I can spare two more hours dealing with you and your partner, but there is a very big chance if I come down there in the state I am currently in, I will lose it on Raphael. We have a long personal history, I hate his guts, and honestly, I would enjoy very much gutting him with a fork and strangling him on his own inwards, in front of everybody. Has he told you all about me? I’m sure he has.

“But did he tell you he is my best friend’s sperm donor? And do you know that prior to his wife kicking him out, he was an abusive drunk who had no qualms beating the shit out of his wife and his six years old boy? Do you know that he hadn’t paid a cent of child support after, driving Mellissa to working to the point of complete exhaustion? And do you know, after thirteen years of no contact – not even a birthday or Christmas card - he had the goal to show up out of the blue and try ‘reconnecting’ with his son? And when I had the ‘audacity’ to call him on his shit, he now blames me for his son’s estrangement?

“If I come down to the office in the state I am in right now it will turn ugly really, really fast, and it would have nothing to do with the case whatsoever. How about I send you all my notes on the case, and all my notes on Valack, yes, Christopher, I have notes on Valack, ‘been compiling them ever since the first time he had shown interest in me, so how about I sent you everything I have, and you can get the case from the precinct, and you can study those for the next ten, twelve hours while I get some shut-eye, so when I come down there, I can be civil to one of the arch-villains of my childhood? How about that, hm? What’d you say?”

There was a long silence in the other end of the line, Argent parsing through Stiles’ word-vomit and mulling over what he said, then finally:

“Okay, send me everything and call me tomorrow to schedule a meeting for the afternoon.” Came the curt reply.

Stiles and Chris Argent had never gotten along, partially due to Raphael McCall’s influence, partially due to Stiles’ unceremonious manner and apparent disregard of the FBI’s authority – which was entirely thanks to the hatred Stiles harbored toward Raphael McCall -, but hopefully now Chris would have some insight into why Stiles was so uncooperative and standoffish against them in particular, while he had been getting along relatively well with other FBI agents and even liked some of them. Actually, Stiles kind of likes Chris too, the last sane Argent standing, but that was overshadowed by the Rapahel’s presence. Also, Christopher Argent was kind of a dick. But so was Stiles.

Then, completely out of the blue, Chris said:

“Get some sleep, Stilinski. You did a good job.” And hang up.

Stiles gaped at his phone, then raised his eyes to meet Peter’s blank expression.

“Did you hear that?” he asked in awe. “I didn’t imagine it, did I? The Ice King sounded almost human!”

Peter’s stone mask broke into grim smile.

“Don’t ask me for an opinion on an Argent, I’m bias.” Then his eyes softened. “Now, go take a shower while I make you something to eat.”

Stiles bristled immediately.

“Dude! First of all – no, thank you, you need to leave; second – you don’t get to order me around; third – I don’t even know you, I’ve let you in because I’m tired and can’t think straight; forth - I don’t know who do you think you are, but if you think for even a second I will let your Dom shit fly, you’re…”

With two quick strides Peter was in front of him, and his hand was on the back of Stiles neck.

 

***

The hand was warm. The callused fingers dug in gently, massaging the tensed muscles. Stiles mind went completely blank - no thought in sight, but a hurricane of emotions, unwanted and unbidden exploded inside him.

It felt… It felt good. Safe.

There was this man in front of him, devilishly handsome, impeccably dressed in a tight jeans, white V-neck and leather jacket… A werewolf, whose animalistic, almost feral aura was blasting Stile senses full-force, his all-encompassing presence – filling every nook and cranny of the apartment. A potential killer, who, according to Lydia, thrived on causing pain to others. A Dom. And yet… and yet, Stiles couldn’t remember ever feeling so _safe_ in his entire life. Like this incredibly dangerous, vicious man would never, ever hurt _him_. A man, a wolf, who caused pain for a living!

For the life of him, Stiles couldn’t brake eye contact with those beautiful blue eyes. Something warm stirred inside him. Peter Hale was doing _something_ to him, and Stiles wasn’t sure he liked it. Oh, he liked it alright, but it felt so good, that it was addictive, and that was scaring Stiles almost out of his mind. Somehow this man had the power to get under Stiles’ defenses, within ten minutes of their acquaintance. Stiles wouldn’t let people in after years of friendship! He felt utterly helpless, and on the verge of tears. What was happening to him?

Peter Hale had said ‘mate’. Was that it? Was this the mate pull in work here? Is this why the werewolf exuded so much power over him? And was it actually real? How can he be sure the Hale was telling him the true about them being mates?

Lydia had told Stiles Peter Hale had PhD in psychology. What if this was some elaborate mind-game? Lydia had been pressuring Stiles to try the BDSM lifestyle for a while now, and what Lydia wanted Lydia got. What if this was some sort of complicated scheme to force him to give in? He wouldn’t put it beyond the Strawberry Blond to but in his life. She had done it plenty of times already, and Stiles had let her, only because he knew she had his best interest at heart.

But this? This was too much, it was going too far!

Unless… Unless, Peter was truly his mate…

Was there a reason for Peter to lie about that? Would a werewolf lie about something this important to their culture at all?

The hand was warm, and heavy and grounding and somehow managed to prevent Stiles from falling apart at the seams. How can such a simple gesture contain so much power?

Stiles was actually fighting the impulse to lean back at the touch. He was fighting the impulse to lean forward and berry his face into a complete stranger’s chest. He was fighting the impulse to bare his neck to the wolf. He was fighting the impulse to shake the hand and run away from it all. He had no idea how to react, how he was supposed to react to all of _this_.

‘Mate!’

The thought scared Stiles out of his mind, and the only reason he wasn’t on the floor, having a full-blown panic attack right now was the hand on the back of his neck, keeping him anchored to the here-and-now.

So much power! He had met Peter just fifteen minutes ago and the wolf had so much power over him already! And he would demand more, wouldn’t he? He would demand trust.

Stiles’ whole body was shaking under the warm hand. Thoughts, confusing and unbidden, memories that were better left forgotten flooded Stiles mind, and he wanted to cry, to scream at the world, to rage. But the hand just kept him there – strong and steadfast – not letting him fall apart, keeping him safe.

A sudden image appeared in Stiles mind, an image of a cat caring her kitten by the scruff of its neck. The image was so painful, so heartbreaking that the boy redouble his efforts to fight his tears.

At this moment Peter Hale felt larger than Life to Stiles, but not menacing, no, the wolf was offering only strength, support and safety. Shelter from the world. A simple hand on the back of his neck. Jesus, how messed up was he?!

‘Mate’.

The wolf already had the power to keep him grounded and whole and safe, but also the power to destroy him with a single glance, a single lift of an eyebrow, a single gesture. How could Stiles trust a man with so much power?

Stiles trusted very, very few people in his life, and he trusted them not in the good sense. He never completely trusted Lydia, or Scott, or Erica, or Boyd, or Kira, or Theo, never completely, never one hundred percent.

Correction, he trusted Theo. He trusted Theo, because he locked Kuroi-khan and Coyote inside him in an endless battle for dominance, and the other two wouldn’t let the third one to hurt him – because they wanted to be the one who would dish out the pain.

‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the trickster of them all?’ The question came unbidden in Stiles’ mind.

He was.

Somehow, Stiles knew deep down that tricking Peter Hale wound be the biggest challenge he had faced yet.

He had tricked his arch nemesis, a chaos daemon and trickster god into an endless battle, and at the end of the road there would be a price to pay. Stiles was ready for that, but the end of the road was far away, so he trusted Theo, and by extension Kuroi and Coyote – for now.

He trusted Valack to come for him if he could. Valack was nothing but reliable in that sense. He wanted Stiles in pain for a long time before he drilled a hole in his brain himself, and this was something Stiles did trust.

He trusted Raphael to do everything in his power to ruin the person who had the knowledge and means to destroy him.

He trusted Katherine Argent to come after him as soon as she found out a Hale had shown interest in him.

But Peter Hale? Peter would demand a different kind of trust. The kind of trust that would put Stiles wellbeing in the wolf’s hands. Stiles didn’t know if he was capable of that. He had, a long time ago, trusted his Mother, and she betrayed his trust. He had, a long time ago, trusted his Father, and he betrayed him too.

If your parents, the people who created you, who were biologically driven to love you and care for you didn’t, how could you trust _anyone_ not to hurt you too?

The most horrifying part was that Stiles was willing to give it to him, give Peter Hale his trust, with the full knowledge of the inevitable heartbreak. Stiles had managed somehow to survive his mother. He had managed to survive his father as well. But it was becoming crystal clear to him he won’t survive Peter Hale.

There was stinging in Stiles eyes, but he refused to let all his pain and fears to resurface, ruthlessly pressed them back down… the same moment the fingers on his neck tightened and the hand shook him gently and pulled him closer to the werewolf.

‘Mate’.

“Mate” Peter echoed his thoughts softly, gently, but there was firmness in his voice. “You’re going to get a shower, while I cook you something to eat. Then you’re going to bed, because you are dead on your feet. After you have a good night rest, we will talk. Please, don’t argue with me. You know how wolves are about their mates, I believe you had seen it firsthand. I know you don’t trust a word I say at the moment, but indulge me for tonight. I have nothing to gain here by lying to you, and I’m asking for your blind trust for a few hours only. Tomorrow we will go to were of your choosing, who can verify for you if I’m lying or not. Okay?”

Stiles gulped.

“What then? What happens after…” he asked, sure Peter Hale had about that plan already.

The older man smiled gently at him.

“After, I’m going to court you properly. You are going to get to know me. I’m going to get to know you.” The werewolf paused and the smile dimmed, letting Stiles know how serious Peter was.

“Stiles, you know about wolves and their mates. If I’m telling the truth, you know you are it for me, and I am it for you. If I’m telling the truth – and I am, but I don’t expect you to believe me - neither of us is capable of building a relationship with anyone else but the other. We have to make an effort to make this work or we will be alone for the rest of our lives and pining for each other. You know wolves. You know I’m not lying or trying to manipulate you on this.”

Well, apparently Stiles wasn’t subtle or managed to hide his suspicion.

The phone rang again, and Peter Hale released him and stepped away.

Stiles looked at his phone and sighed.

“Thinking about them is like summoning” he muttered to himself, annoyed.

“Yes?” he picked up with, not knowing who would be on the end of the line.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the trickster of them all?” came Theo’s voice, but that was definitely not Theodor Reaken, and the absurdity of it all caused Stiles to burst into hysterical laughter.

 

***

 

He doubled over and spent the next several minutes guffawing. When the hysteria subsided down to giggling hiccups, he put the phone back to his year.

“Do I amuse you, little human?” the thousand-year-old entity on the other end asked.

Stiles giggled.

“Sorry, Your Highness, just… just…” and he went off again.

The Nogitsune waited patiently for him to finish.

“I’m sorry, Kuroi-khan,” Stiles apologized again “It’s just… I haven’t slept for three days, and I just… Sorry, I’m not in my right mind, I guess. How may I help you?”

The dark spirit harrumphed.

“You can help me by finding a way to release me from this predicament you put me in, but since I know you by now, my boy, I don’t think it’s happening any time soon, so, no, I don’t need anything. This is more of a social call.” The Nogitsune sounded peeved but fond. There is no better way to gaining a fox daemon respect – and hatred – than outsmarting them. “Just calling to let you know I sense quite a lot of chaos coming your way. And to tell you if you need me, I’ll be on the first flight to New York.”

Stiles looked at Peter. The werewolf had one eyebrow raised in inquiry, something akin to anger in his eyes, but Stiles shook his head and mouthed ‘later’.

“Thank you, Your Highness” Stiles said, without an ounce of sarcasm. Being polite to daemons would help one’s chances for receiving a swift death later on, which was a big plus in Stiles book. “If something I can’t deal with happens I’ll let you know.”

“If something you think you can’t deal happens, it will be too late, child!” the dark spirit snapped harshly. “Go to bed and call me tomorrow. I want to know what’s going on beforehand.”

 Stiles rolled his eyes. Short term? Having a daemon or a god enraged at you was incredibly useful, because they won’t let anything happened to you. They’ll do everything in their power to make sure you’re in mint condition to deal with you personally the first chance they got. Long term? Long, agonizing death - usually yours and everyone’s you held dear, although Stiles had managed to circumvent the latter, but his own death was inevitable. The price has to be paid sooner or later.

Then another thought stroke Stiles.

“Your Highness, could you tell via the phone if someone is lying or not?” he asked, eyeing Peter carefully.

“Yes, Stiles, Peter Hale is your mate” the Nogitsune replied instantly, which caused the werewolf second brow to fly up, both of them almost hitting the wolf’s hair-line. Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it.

“How did you…” Stiles started, but the entity on the other end of the line interrupted him.

“Coyote’s precognizant, remember? He insisted we come up there for the reveal, because you have just become _interesting_ , but was outvoted”.

Stiles groaned. If the God of Mischief find you interesting, nothing good – for you – is about to follow. Especially if said God of Mischief is incredibly pissed at you at the moment.

Despite everything, Stiles considered pitting Coyote and the Nogitsune against each-other and locking them both in Theo’s body his best plan _ever_. Downside - he dreaded the day those two will get free.

“Did Coyote shared some details by any chance?” he ventured.

A low menacing chuckle came from the other end, and in the corner of his eyes Stiles saw Peter’s hackles rising.

“Now, now, dear boy, if we tell you where would be the fun in that?”

Stiles sighed, he didn’t expected an answer anyways, but still - he had to try. He changed the subject.

“How’s Chicago?”

“Delightfully chaotic” came the gleeful reply. “We are pitting the Russians and the Chinese against one another. I hadn’t have so much fun in centuries!”

Stiles almost sighed in relief. The Nogitsune was still playing his game with the mafia. He feared the moment the spirit would get bored and would turn his attention to politics. Hopefully, the other two would be enough to neutralize him. Theo would try at least. Several years later, Stiles still had hard time believing the actual mechanics of the possessions were real. The Nogitsune was feeding on Theo’s violent and evil tendencies. Which meant - literally – eating them as soon as they manifested in his mind. Add to that the fact Coyote was feeding on Theo’s mischief and sociopathic urges, and Theodor Reaken was left being quite a good person, his ‘evil-self’ being literally eaten by the two entities, and leaving the goodness behind, because ‘it was disgusting’. He was outright saint at this moment! If his life and soul wasn’t at stake in all this, Stiles would have laughed himself silly.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself” Stiles said sincerely.

“Yeah, well” the thousand-years-old demon fox grumbled “It’s Coyote’s turn to drive next so expect us to show up there sometime in the near future.”

Stiles cringed.

“Can’t you just stop him?” he asked.

“Not if he’s on the driver’s seat. You know I don’t like New York, child. Too many powerful beings up there. I hate to play by the rules, but there are just loose enough for the flee-bag to play free out there. Too little chaos for me, and I can’t create more without drawing attention. And let me remind you that you left us weak and vulnerable in this state. None of us can afford being noticed. But non-the-less, if you’re in trouble, I’m coming up there and sorting you out” the spirit threatened.

Stiles shuttered.

“Thank you, your majesty, but it won’t be necessary.” He assured hastily.

“That’s for me to decide, not you, boy!” Kuroi-khan snapped possessively “Now, go to bed, and call me in the morning.”

“Yes, sir” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young man, or I’ll come there just to smack you upside the head.” And with that the Fox ended the call.

Stiles looked up from the phone to meet electric blue eyes, clenched jaw with muscle ticking, and a vain, pulsing on the wolf’s forehead.

Oh, boy, Peter Hale was pissed.

Stiles cringed internally.  

***

Peter Hale was, in fact, royally pissed. Someone, or something, he didn’t know which - and frankly, he didn’t care – had just stack a claim on his mate – in front of him!

Peter Hale wanted to kill something. So did his wolf.

His little mate was watching him cautiously, his scent – uneasy, not saying anything, and Peter got himself under control, not wanting to scare his boy further.

“Go take a shower” his voice sounded a bit rough, and Stiles frowned at him but didn’t argue – which Peter counted as a victory, “and I’ll feed you. Then I’d very much like an explanation who that was.”

He almost growled the last bit, but to his surprise, Stiles chuckled.

“That’s a pretty long story, which will take half the night to tell, so, how about I told you tomorrow?” his mate asked, then gave Peter a puppy-dog eyes. To the wolf’s utter horror he realized he was powerless to deny those eyes anything.

“I really need some sleep, Mr. Hale!” Stiles pleaded.

That wouldn’t do.

“Peter!” the wolf demanded sternly. “You call me Peter, or mate.”

Stiles blushed adorably.

“Well,” the boy started awkwardly, “I didn’t want to assume we are on first name basis yet.”

Peter chuckled at that.

“We were on first name basis the moment I realized you’re my mate, Stiles. Now go take a shower before I decide to join you.” He delivered the order softly, so not to spook his boy yet, but it was an order non-the-less.

“Let me just send the Douchebag Duo the files I’ve promised them” Stiles reached for his laptop and after a few of clicks, stood back up – to Peter’s disappointment. He was enjoying the view!

Stiles nodded tiredly, more to himself then to Peter and went to the bedroom, presumably to get clean clothes and may be, if he felt safe enough around Peter, to put away his gun.

Peter listened carefully, until he heard the feint, inaudible by human ears sound of a rotating safe-lock dial, a click and soft clank of metal against metal, then the click of a seal locking.

That was that, then. His mate trusted him enough to put his gun in his home safe at least.

There was further shuffling and opening and closing of drawers.

Peter was very well aware that his boy was too tired to think straight, and furthermore, if Lydia was right and the kid was unraveling, not-giving two shits about letting a complete stranger in one’s den whilst vulnerable was bothersome. The werewolf was almost sure that the relatively easy acceptance he gotten out of the boy – and a mere token protest of the situation – were due to his mate’s exhaustion. The wolf had no doubt of the real battle ahead – he witnessed what his mate was capable of, when digging his heels in, during that phone conversation with the FBI.

Peter considered himself lucky he managed to catch his mate at his low to force himself in the boy’s life so easily, but he knew, there will be a fight in the morning, when Stiles would find the wolf still in his apartment.

Never-the-less, the wolf didn’t dare lessening the pressure in fear not to lose the small amount of ground he manage to gain this night by taking his boy by surprise.

Tomorrow was another day. Stiles would be well-rested and battle ready, but so would be Peter.

And his mate responded so _beautifully_ to the tiniest amount of dominance the wolf allowed himself to display. Peter was really tempted to press further. But he was crossing the line, he knew it, and Lydia was right, this matter needed a delicate touch. Pressing even more would cause Stiles to snap, and that was the last thing Peter needed.

The wolf went to the kitchen, lost in his own thoughts, and started rummaging for food, aware of the wary eyes on him.

The fridge produced half empty jar of pickles, a cheese that had to be thrown out, and a bottle of milk that had expired probably two weeks ago. The cupboard above the sink produced two cans of tomato soup, several granola bars, and a box of cereal. The cupboard below the sink produced cleaning supplies.

Peter turned his displeased gaze to the young man leaning on the bathroom door.

“There is nothing edible in this kitchen” he stated accusingly, and the boy rolled his eyes so hard he probably saw the back of his skull.

“Well, I haven’t exactly been home for more than twenty minutes for the last three days” Stiles quipped.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles scoffed back.

Peter sighed, irritated.

“Indian or Chinese?” he demanded.

“Sweet and sour pork, and thank you” Stiles replied and with no further ado went into the bathroom.

Peter pulled up his phone to order.

The food arrived not fifteen minutes later, and Stiles was still in the bathroom.

Peter was starting to worry a little, but occupied himself by rummaging into the small kitchen a little more. To his horror the boy apparently owned all in all four plates only, and none of them matched. Same with the utensils. Further inspection revealed there were no wine glasses in the kitchen, actually, there were no water glasses either, or any kind of glass except three – mismatched again – tea cups and two coffee mugs.

The werewolf shuttered, thinking of his own kitchen at his luxurious top floor apartment, the dark granite tops and shining, modern appliances, chrome and dark metal, contrasting nicely with the light varnish of his cupboards, top-of-the-line transparent – as in ‘see-through’ - refrigerator, a wine-cooling rack, pyrolysis oven, induction heating hobs build-in into one end of the spacious kitchen island that could seat ten people easily, floor-to-ceiling windows, a view of the New York sky line… Stiles whole apartment could probably fit in Peter’s kitchen alone and have a decent space left.

Jesus, his boy was going to have a conniption the moment he saw how Peter lived!

The wolf looked around and debated what to do with the food, since there was no sitting space in the kitchen itself – no table or anything. Should they eat in the living-room? On the coffee table? Should he pull out the dinner plates – mismatched as they were, or just eat from the containers? He had bought beer and sprite and water, not sure what his boy would prefer, but…

Peter was a creature of habit, he wouldn’t eat on his own without a table-cloth and cloth napkins, and proper dinner were. What was he supposed to do with _this_?

Peter was at a loss, and it was an unpleasant feeling. He was always self-confident, always took control of any situation, but in his mate’s space, in his mate’s _den_ he had no clue how to proceed.

Finally he shook himself and brought the foot to the table, closed the laptop and put it on the arm chair, placed the containers and the drinks – with a paper napkin under them, the werewolf shuttered at the thought of stains on the surface - on the table top and stood up to call to his mate the food was ready, when the bathroom door opened and Stiles strode out, barefoot, in a soft gray sweat-pants and old, weathered, old threadbare definitely couple of sizes too-big t-shirt with ‘BHSD’ on it.

Peter’s wolf went ballistic in his head. The tussled hair, the pinked skin, pinked _neck_ on full display out of the overstretched neck-line that a shoulder was almost peeking out too, the mouthwatering scent of his mate, Peter’s wolf _wanted_. And so did Peter. His mate looked debauched! The werewolf vowed to himself to bring some of his own worn out threadbare V-necks and sweaters and hide them in his mate’s drawers… He would make sure they were wearing the wolf’s scent first, of course. He could just imagine Stiles in his old red Henley. Or better still, this pale neck pinked from beard-burns instead of hot water, with a necklace of hickeys and slash of the wolf spunk to finish the look. Suddenly Peter was very well aware how visible his erection was in his tight jeans. He decided he didn’t mind. If the tables were turned, he would have been proud to elicit such a visceral reaction in his mate.

Stiles stopped and cocked his head quizzically.

“What’s with the head-lights?” he inquired.

“Hm?” was Peter impeccable response.

“Your eyes are glowing” the boy clarified.

Jesus, ‘what’s with the headlights?’! His mate was in the presence of a werewolf, who, apparently had control issues, and was not only unbothered by it, but blatantly dismissive of the entire situation.

Peter forced his wolf to subside and ruffed up a closed-off apology, annoyed and angry with himself in being caught out of control. It wasn’t becoming of Dom of his stature to lose it like that. His control should be always impeccable.

Stiles, for his part just strolled over, grabbed a pillow, sat cross-legged on the floor and reached for the nearest container.

Peter, regaining his balance, raised an eye-brow at him.

“This doesn’t look very comfortable” he commented mildly “There’s plenty of room on the couch.”

Stiles shook his head, swallowed his bite and explained.

“That’s okay. I don’t need to be comfortable right now. The more uncomfortable, the better – there is no way I can fall asleep like this.”

“I see” Peter commented coolly.

“How much do I owe you for the food?” Stiles asked, which offended Peter.

“Dinner’s on me” he said almost harshly, annoyed again. Stiles stopped chewing and looked at him under his eyelashes. It was a cool, assessing look – revealing nothing and taking in everything.

“Alright” he finally said. “I’ll pick the bill next time.”

Despite himself, Peter’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Next time?” he inquired.

Stiles frowned at him.

“It will really help if you stop acting like a condescending dick all the time” he said bluntly. “I have to deal with enough of those, your buddy Chris is on the top of that list.”

Peter had, in fact, regained his impeccable control. That’s why he didn’t flinch at his mate’s rebuke, nor did his eyes glow at the blatant disrespect.

“Cristopher Argent and I can barely be in the same room without bloodshed” he commented mildly, but the warning was there for everyone to hear, just under the surface.

Stiles gave him a look.

“I’m well aware” was his succinct comment. “But if I truly am your mate” he pointed at Peter with his chopsticks at that “which I’m not truly convinced at this moment, despite what Kuroi and Coyote have to say on the matter” he made a vague gesture with his utensils “I gather it won’t be that easy to get rid of you, will it?”

Peter gave the boy his most sinister grin.

“You are more than welcome to try. I enjoy a good hunt.”

Stiles dismissed him.

“I’m not in your fighting weight group right now, so I’ll skip it, thanks. But I’ve seen how you, people, are about your mates, and I’m sleep deprived enough to give you a pass for tonight.” He looked Peter straight in the eyes, dropping all pretenses and said “If I am your mate, there will be a next time, no matter what I have to say on the matter.”

Yes, there would be a next time, and no, Stiles had no say in the matter.

Peter was irrevocably charmed by this no-nonsense attitude in the young man, and for the first time he saw what Lydia meant when she had said “He’s awesome like that.”

This boy had acted as the human alpha of an almost out of control omega for years!

“How do you do that?” the question slipped out of his lips and Stiles shot him a glance before resumed eating and talking with his mouth full.

“Do what? Compartmentalizing? Ignoring the problem until I have all my bearings to deal with it? Dude, tomorrow I’ll have to deal with McCall and Argent. And there is Valack’s issue waiting on the sidelines. Let’s not forget about the Native American God of Mischief, who would very much like to see me dead, dropping by New York for a visit. And there is Dear Little Katie - thank you very much for that by the way – who will show up as soon as she finds out a Hale has shown an interest in me, and let’s not forget about her Dear Old Dad, who I would very much like to see behind bars at least, preferably - on the electric chair, but, hey, behind bars totally works for me too. This mating business? Sorry, Peter, right now it look like small potatoes.”

Stiles stopped, swallowed, and gave Peter another look.

“Mind you, tomorrow morning will be entirely different cattle of fish. I’m just too exhausted to deal with it right now. And turn off the headlights, please.” It didn’t sound like a request. “I’m not being disrespectful to you, I’m dead on my feet, is what I am. After we’re done with dinner I’ll pass out cold and probably sleep right through my three alarms in the morning. Argent will be lucky if I wake up before tomorrow evening.”

Stiles took another bite and continued to talk.

“I’m under no illusion that you’ll leave me out of your sight tonight, so I would very much appreciate if you’d wake me up sometime you see fit in the afternoon. If you have to dump ice-cold water on me to do that, I’m giving you a free pass this time, because I’m not actually sure you won’t need it. After I wake up and have my coffee, we will talk. I’ll have the brain cells for an actual conversation then.” He sounded sincere, reasonable, and the werewolf couldn’t scent anything but complete and utter exhaustion wafting off the boy. How was he still standing was beyond Peter.

“Your table manners are atrocious” he decided to respond with, which made him mate snort in mirth.

The werewolf turned off the headlights, as Stiles put it, and instead of asserting his dominance – he just knew it wouldn’t be well received - decided to press for a little of information from him seemingly talkative mate.

“Who’s Valack?” he asked, deliberately sounding nonchalant, but by the sharp look Stiles gave him, he wasn’t fooling anyone.

The boy chose to answer.

“Valack’s the ‘Third-Eye Killer’. You’ve heard of him, it was all over the news a couple of years ago. Killed eleven people by drilling a hole in their skulls and placed a glass eye in it. He’s in maximum security prison right now.”

Peter mulled if he should press further, but decided against it. He had his own sources to find what was going on there. There were a fair number of law-enforcement in the lifestyle.

“And the God of Mischief?” he asked next.

“Same long-long story that is not for tonight” Stiles answered.

The werewolf let this go too.

“You seem to be harboring quite a grudge against the Argents” he commented.

Stiles laughed.

“Dude” he exclaimed “I don’t discriminate! Argents, Wellingtons, McCraes, Vasielievi, Yaboo or Calaveras – I hate them all.”

Peter frowned.

“You hate hunters in general?” he clarified.

Stiles raised a brow at him.

“And you don’t?” he countered.

Peter let out a small chuckle.

“Yes, I do, but it comes with the territory. I’m a werewolf, after all.”

Stiles shrugged.

“Yeah, you are, but I’m a ‘mut-lover’ and ‘a traitor of humanity’, which is worse in their books. You are born to it, you could do nothing about it. I made a _conscious decision_ to be the way I am. Those who know about me hate my guts.”

Peter just nodded, he had nothing to say to _that_.

Stiles pushed the container away, stretched and yawned.

“Sorry, dude, but I’m beat. I really need to hit the sack now.” He yawned again. “Not that I’m not thankful for the food or anything, but I’m dying quietly for a bed here.”

Peter smiled wryly at him.

“Mate” he corrected softly but firmly.

The boy blinked slowly at him, his brain obviously already asleep.

“Peter or mate” the werewolf clarified. “That’s how you should address me. Not dude.”

Stiles’ face split into a sleepy grin.

“Whatever you say, mate” he retorted. The ‘mate’ didn’t sound right at all.

Peter decided to push his luck and growl at the boy.

Stiles just laughed and got up.

“Night, mate, sweet dreams” he strolled toward his bedroom slightly swaying from exhaustion on the way.

Peter suppressed his urge to jump up and steady him.

At the door Stiles turned, smiled devilishly at Peter and shot at him:

“Do you know that in England ‘mate’ means ‘dude’?” and with that parting tit-bit he almost slammed the door shut, closing it behind himself.

Peter couldn’t do anything but chuckle, and went to put away the leftover from their dinner, quietly gleeful.

This was going to be glorious!

Forget about Stiles being an un-sub, which Peter had no doubt he was after seeing him interact with the FBI and the boy’s reaction to his presence. Ever since he scented the sweet aroma of his mate, this stopped being about taming an un-sub.

Peter had to admit, even after seeing the photo of Stiles at the club, the possibility of the boy being an un-sub had aided to his allure. He was vain enough and selfish enough – he had to admit it to himself at least – that the idea of giving up his job, which was more like a calling for him really… Well, taming an un-sub would have sweetened the deal, wouldn’t it? Going out with a bang, so to speak.

But now? After what he scented, after what he saw, it didn’t matter.

This beautiful creature was smart, and cunning, and ruthless, and Peter would have a hard time keeping up with him. It would be like real mate hunt. Battle for dominance, battle of wits, battle with a real worthy opponent, who was completely capable of going toe-to-toe, not with Peter Hale the Dom, but with Peter Hale, the Hale Shadow Wolf. It was going to be so glorious, his wolf was yapping happily in his head already.

And the best part was, this hunt wouldn’t end with a bloodshed. No, it will end with Peter claiming his mate. Drag him to his den, feast on his flesh, gather him in his arms and… just _have_ him.

Peter Hale had to admit, he was a control freak. He reveled in the total dominance over his clients. But he also reveled in the vain knowledge he was the only person that could possibly satisfy them and take care of their needs like nobody else ever could.

And this boy, this boy would be both his lover and his charge, he was everything Peter had ever wished and craved wrapped into one. His mate was absolutely perfect!

Oh, yes, Peter Hale was going to enjoy immensely not only this hunt, but providing and taking care of his wounded mate as well.

He sensed how distraught the boy was during Peter’s show of dominance. How scared Stiles was. Scared of Peter, and the ease with which the werewolf had managed to take over.

There was the small issue with their mismatching life-stiles, but Peter was confident he could work around it. And he was sure, after explaining the lifestyle properly to Stiles, the boy wouldn’t be so much antagonistic toward BDSM, at least in general. The wolf just had to find the right words to get through to his mate. This was important if Peter wanted to keep his share in “Pandemonium”. Oh, don’t get him wrong, he was willing to sell it if it would keep Stiles happy, but the club was something Peter had built, figuratively speaking, with his own two hands. Deucalion, Eniss and he had raised “Pandemonium” from the ground up to being one of the top BDSM establishments in the country. And something told Peter Stiles wouldn’t want that – him, selling his share in the business, that is. Somehow the wolf knew his boy would ever fight him on it. But keeping the club meant Stiles coming to terms with the lifestyle. It wasn’t going to be an easy task that was for sure.

When it came to his little mate, Peter had come to three very important conclusions.

One – he would never, ever will get along with his father-in-law. If he could get away with murdering the man, he would do it without blinking an eye. But Stiles would be upset with him, because, no matter how badly the man had hurt his son, Stiles still loved him. Peter was sure the ‘BHSD’ on the old worn out tee stood for Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. So, no, Peter wouldn’t pay a mid-night visit to the good Sheriff, keeping his son away from him would have to be punishment enough.

Two – Peter had to be on top of his game to fix what was done to Stiles. The boy was hurt by the people he loved the most – his mother and his father, and have severe trust issues, that was more than obvious, despite the easy acceptance the boy just displayed. A lesser man – or wolf – might be fooled by it, but not the Shadow Wolf. The Shadow Wolf knew what trickery was, and Stiles was cunning, and sly and underhanded – he was as good at the game as Peter, if not better. So, no, Peter wasn’t fooled in the slightest. This was going to be a long-drawn, painful battle – convincing Stiles to trust him unconditionally. Good thing he could satisfy the boy’s need for a father figure, a care-taker and a lover. And not just a lover, but someone who would actually love him and care for him twenty four/seven.

Three – Stiles’ life was way too complicated, something the boy did not need. Peter fully intended to un-complicate it, and as soon as possible. A visit to the only sane Argent this side of the Atlantic, a visit to a serial killer and a visit to a… What did Stiles called it? The God of Mischief? The last one sounded complicated enough, but Peter was completely okay with misdirecting all their attention from Stiles to himself. His boy deserved to be safe and happy for once in his life, and Peter was more than glad to provide both.

Damn, that sofa was uncomfortable! Peter wondered if Stiles would let him replace it.

 


End file.
